Here come the girls...

Perhaps doing this blog has alerted the universe, somehow tapped into that cosmic ordering system so beloved of beardy bloke off the TV? Certainly something was sensitive to the limits of my bank balance when it was the mummies Xmas bash this week. Maybe it was the batch of hail Mary's I did before heading out? Nah, I'm not even Catholic so they wouldn't get a look in, plus I doubt the lady in blue would approve of over indulgence; let's face it she gave birth in a stable - not exactly BUPA is it.

I think with all the wisdom of my 38 years I shall notch it up to pure brilliant flukey good fortune. Can't beat a bit of random luck can you? Especially at this time of year. So it was fitting that the mummies staff night out should benefit from the benevolent purse strings of a random, unknown company's staff Xmas party. Free bar and a rare feast of quality nibbles in a generous buffet were unexpectedly available for our delight.

It happened quite by accident. Eager to kick off proceedings I arrived at the pre-dinner drinks venue armed with a thirst and a magazine (Vanity Fair FYI - Johnny Depp lured me in) to find the place heaving. A gaggle of ladies at the bar smiled in welcome, passed me a drinks list and left me to decide. Well it would have been rude not to wouldn't it? And how beautifully English it all was when I took my large glass of vino, selected a perch, whipped out the magazine and apparently ignored 'my colleagues' that not a soul chose to ask who the hell I was. There was nothing more than a curious glance sent my way. Immediately I sent a text to alert the other mummies - didn't want them blowing my cover - and they too made merry with the free bar on arrival. As a collective we assumed the identity of co-workers and everyone blithely ignored the fact they had never set eyes on us before that night. The waiters invited us - invited mind - to partake of the buffet as it appeared and with all the grace of the good virgin herself we accepted that invitation. Of course we needed more wine to wash it down. Such larks!

The red stuff was the right stuff for mummies on the town...

Rosy of cheek and semi-full of belly we left as late as we possibly could to keep our dinner date. Plus we didn't want to succumb to the temptation to make up stories about 'Nellie from accounts'. Naturally we skipped starters, thus shaving  a nice wodge of cash off the bill. That staff party was the gift that kept on giving.

More wine, liqueur coffee and onto the next venue. The cocktail lounge beckoned with a wink and a smile. We were ready for a spot of mixing but..the horror...the place was jammed with tanked up leery Loaded readers (or Nuts but definitely not Esquire types) herding round the bar. It was like a scene from Wall Street. Definitely not in keeping with the night's vibe. In a hasty retreat we  plumped for the pub and yet again saved ourselves a few quid into the bargain. It was perfect. Good times, good banter and minimum outlay. It doesn't get better than that.

There is nothing to compare to a night out with the ladies; let's face it I'm hardly going to laugh till I cry on the topic of pelvic floor exercises with big tall hubby. |It will be an eternal mystery as to whether we did them then and there or not...There are some things that are just for girls. We might talk like ladies but we can drink like the men and finished off our evening with whiskies at a late bar as the snow fell outside and the witching hour truly arrived. A toast to ladies who know how to party! From start to finish it was a night to warm the cockles and raise a smile, no a grin, a face splitting teeth sharing grin to the most harassed of mummies visages. If Christmas is for giving we have duly received. Thank you.